Chapter 11: Humiliation
Kenny sought to remove all girlishness from his appearance and mannerisms as he prepared for his first set of classes. He tied his hair in a ponytail, wore a pair of boy jeans and a short sleeved plaid shirt, hoping that might make him appear manly. He made certain all signs of makeup had been removed.

Josh Barnes, a graduate student, was the floor proctor, charged with keeping peace among the boys and generally managing the floor. His room was the first room to the left of the main entrance, and his door was open when Kenny approached.

“Mr. Barnes,” Kenny said, his voice tentative.

“What?” Barnes looked up from his desk where he had been hunched over a computer.

“I’m Kenneth Hansson, room 111. What happened to Ray . . . ah . . . er . . . Rajesh, my roommate?”

“Oh, the Indian boy,” he said. “He moved out.”

“I know, his stuff is all gone.”

Barnes seemed annoyed by the question; it was apparent that he had been deep into something on his computer when Kenny interrupted him; yet, Kenny knew, the young man’s job was to be open to questions.

“He moved out yesterday afternoon,” Barnes said. “His parents were with him. I guess they wanted something fancier for their kid. You know how fussy these Indian kids are, specially the rich ones.”

“Did they leave a forwarding address?”

“Nope.”

“And no further reason for going?” Kenny persisted.

“Well, they did say one thing, something about Rajesh having bad influences here. That’s about all I remember. They were kinda angry, the parents were, but Rajesh told me he was ‘sorry’ and seemed to be feuding with his parents. They were not a happy family.”

“That’s all?”

“As far as I remember, kid,” Barnes said, his tone becoming more friendly and warm.

“Thanks.”

“Oh Kenneth,” Barnes said, as Kenny turned to leave. “You eager for another roomie? Or do you like being alone?”

“Alone is fine, but either is Ok.”

“It could be you’ll be alone for this semester, unless management finds someone,” Barnes said. “They don’t like an empty bed.”

Kenny walked out, heading for breakfast, worried that Ray’s parents had moved the boy out because of him. It was a depressing thought. First, Mark, then Gabe, and now Ray. He was beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary.

*****
There was no end of varied outfits that the students wore on campus; due to the unusual late summer heat, the majority of both genders were in shorts, tank tops, tee-shirts or similar forms of undress while some loaded themselves into heavy camouflage trousers and shirts or Goth, as if to dare conventions.

Kenny realized that in his plaid shirt and jeans he was dressed more conventionally than most of them, reinforcing his confidence that he might not cause attention by his androgynous appearance.

As he entered his first class, Sociology 101, he was astonished that it was being held in what appeared to be an auditorium, almost as large as the one in his own high school. It was already filling up with students and he moved into a row halfway up to the front, settling into a seat a bit in from the side aisle.

Even though he was wearing jeans, he instinctively reached back as if to smooth a skirt as he sat down. He raised the side writing platform and placed his Sociology notebook on it, crossed his legs, and awaited the start of classes.

There were several seats open between himself and another boy, who thus far had paid no attention to him. Kenny forced himself to look at his textbook, which he had drawn from his bookbag, but he didn’t see what his eyes looked at. His mind was still focused on the missing roommate. He felt like crying, but held the tears back.

“Miss, oh miss,” a voice said.

Kenny looked up, it was a girl standing next to him, indicating she wanted him to rise and permit her to pass into the vacant seats.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”

He rose quickly, dropping his next book, only to have the boy reached over and pick it up and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” Kenny said, his voice weak and tentative.

The boy smiled at him. Kenny stood while the girl and the boy passed, filling the vacant seats. After they were settled, the girl — a slender, dark-haired girl with a long nose that marred an otherwise lovely face — turned to Kenny.

“Thanks, dear,” she said. “My boy friend is such a gentleman, isn’t he? I trained him well.”

The girl giggled at her own joke. Then she continued:

“I hope he wasn’t flirting with you. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

Kenny froze. They both thought he was a girl.

“No, as you said, he was a gentleman,” Kenny said.

“Good,” the girl said. “By the way, I’m Jenny and this is my boyfriend, Kevin. And what’s your name?”

Kenny hesitated. What was he to say?

*****
Before he could answer, thunderous cheers erupted as Professor Emery Prowesczy (pronounced “pro-witch”) mounted the podium, sparing Kenny the embarrassment of telling the two that he had a boy’s name.

Kenny had signed up for Sociology 101 partly since it was a requirement for all taking the social work major but also because Prowesczy was one of the top-rated sociologists in the nation and had become a media star due to his compelling way to making sociology feel so personal and alive. His lectures were known for the outspoken frankness, providing controversial concepts while spicing it up with real life stories and many laughs.

His lectures were on Mondays and Wednesdays, with students then put into groups of 30 for lab sessions with a graduate assistant on Thursdays or Fridays. True to form, Prowesczy enraptured the freshmen students, as promised, and he finished with a standing ovation, the only professor on campus who gets such a reception.

Standing next to him, the girl named Jenny grabbed his arm, and yelled in his ear: “Wasn’t he just unbelievable? Aren’t you glad you got this class?”

Kenny nodded as he cheered, hoping to escape more attention from the girl, but his hopes for a quick exit were dashed since his way was blocked by others still in their seats.

“I could see you were so involved in his lecture,” the girl said as the crowd noise ended, and the students began filing out. “I don’t know about my boyfriend, though; he seemed bored.”

“It was all right,” the boy said. “Maybe you girls just got the hots for the guy, even if he’s at least 50 years old.”

Kenny turned to walk out, but Jenny (obviously a garrulous girl) reached out to stop him, and said, giggling a bit as she spoke: “No I didn’t have the hots for him, Kevin; I only have the hots for you. It’s just that I think we just are more interested in sociology than you boys are.”

She turned to Kenny, and hardly taking a breath, asked again: “Isn’t that right, dear? Aren’t us girls just a bit more into this stuff? Oh, what did you say your name was?”

Kenny stood still, his mind running as to how he should answer, trying not to pause too long to add attention to his answer, finally blurting out: “Kenny.”

“But you agree with me, right, Kenny?” Jenny continued, apparently not realizing that “Kenny” was a boy’s name.

“Jenny, he’s a boy,” Kevin said.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Jenny said. “It’s just that . . . ah . . . you looked so much . . .”

“No problem,” Kenny said quickly. “I get mistaken for a girl lots these days.”

“That must be so humiliating for you, Kenny,” the girl continued.

“Yes, we’re sorry about this, Kenny,” her boyfriend added.

“It’s my fault, I should cut my hair, I guess,” Kenny said.

“When’s your lab session, Kenny?” the girl asked. “I’m at 10 a.m. Thursday with a grad assistant name Spencer.”

“Same as me,” Kenny said. “Guess we’ll see you then, if not before.”

As they moved out into the aisle, Kevin addressed Kenny: “Just remember Jenny’s my girl. Hands off.”

“I’ll not forget,” he said, looking at the muscular boy holding hands with Jenny.

Kevin gave Kenny a friendly wink, and Kenny left them, hurrying onto his next class. He was smiling; he felt good about telling the truth.

*****
What was nice about the huge university setting was that there was such diversity among the students with a nice mix of African-Americans, Hispanics, folks from the Middle and Far East and others. What was even better was that the students wore all types of clothing, including some outlandish outfits that defied definition.

Kenny spied several students whose androgynous appearance made one wonder about their genders. Most, however, were girls who had either shaved their heads or wore boyish buzz cuts and were dressed completely as boys. He failed to see, however, any truly effeminate boys, feeling perhaps they might be in the arts programs.

In the first days of classes, he tried to maintain a strictly manly appearance, but more often than not he was called “miss” or “girl.” Usually he would not correct the impression, unless it turned out to be someone with whom he was to have an ongoing relationship. He got few direct comments after revealing his true gender, but did sense there were some whispers about him.

Frankly, he felt free, being just one of 40,000 some students on the campus. In a sense, he felt no one knew him and if they felt he looked a bit strange and not quite a boy it really didn’t matter. It was hard to escape the fact that, even in boy’s clothing, he looked like a girl, with his long hair framing his soft featured pretty face and his slender, almost dainty body.

Someone once said, he remembered, that the key to a happy life was “to be one’s self.” In Kenny’s case that meant being “Karen” whether in boy’s or girl’s clothing.

Kenny’s growing feeling of self-confidence, however, didn’t spare him from feeling hurt when some boy openly made fun of his girlishness, or called him “faggot,” “pussy” or “freak.” The two boys across the hall in his dorm eyed him closely, and it was hard to avoid their stares since they always seemed to have their room door open; their room had become a hangout for several other boys for lots joshing and rude remarks so typical of loutish young men.

“Come in here, girl,” the voice commanded as Kenny sought to enter his room one night after he had spent time with Angela. He knew his outfit — girl jeans, pink tee-shirt with cap sleeves and white tennies — made him look particularly female that evening, but he had dressed that way to please Angela who always wanted him in the most feminine of outfits.

Kenny tried to pay no attention, but the voice, harsh and demanding, caused him to shake with fear as he tried to put his key into his door. He failed after several attempts to fit the key into the lock, the delay giving one of the boys, an overweight kid with a dirty tee-shirt, unshaven face and smelling of beer and sweat, was at his side, grabbing Kenny’s keys.

“Let me help you little girl,” he said.

“I can do it myself,” Kenny said, his voice thickening as he felt he was about to cry.

The boy, however, grabbed the keys from Kenny’s hand and dragged him across the hall into the room where three other boys lounged about, all laughing.

“Take her pants down, Randy. Let’s see if she’s got a pussy,” said one of the boys to the fat kid who held Kenny.

“I bet it’s a juicy one,” said another.

“Nah,” said Tommy, one of the boys who lived in the room. Kenny recognized him as one who eyed him most closely. “She’s supposed to be a boy, but you can’t prove it by me.”

“Come girl, kiss me,” Randy said, his beer breath making Kenny want to retch. The boy had drawn Kenny into his soft body. Despite being overweight, the boy was strong, far too strong for Kenny to struggle out of the hold.

Kenny’s sobs grew stronger and in spite of moving his head to avoid the boy’s lips hitting his own, he finally submitted, letting the kiss come. The boy’s tongue fought to enter Kenny’s mouth and he became overwhelmed by the foulness of the boy’s juices. The boy finally had enough, released Kenny and pushed him rudely onto another boy who was seated on a bed.

This boy was a tall, slender boy and wore granny glasses. He had been silent during the incident and grabbed Kenny firmly, permitting him to be lowered safely onto the bed next to him. The boy’s hold was gentle, almost caring.

“Sorry about that, but Randy’s had too much to drink,” the boy said, holding Kenny in a gentle hug.

“What are you doing, Robert?” Randy said. “I gave her to you for you to kiss. She’s a sexy kisser.”

“Randy, you’ve had enough fun,” the boy named Robert said. “You could get us all booted out of here.”

“But look at her,” Randy persisted. “She’s even wearing girl jeans. Can’t you see that? She probably sits down to pee.”

Kenny sat on the bed, taking a tissue from Robert and rubbing his eyes dry.

“Let me out of here,” he pleaded.

Robert got up from the bed, assisted Kenny to his feet. He pushed Randy aside, grabbing Kenny’s keys from the boy’s hand and led Kenny across the hall to his room.

“Is this the key?” Robert said, holding up the bronze-colored key.

Kenny nodded, and the boy opened the door, helping Kenny into his room.

“Thank you,” Kenny said. For some strange reason, he had a desire to stand on his toe and kiss the boy for his kindness, but he resisted.

“Are you all right now?”

Kenny nodded.

“You’ll have to forgive Randy,” Robert said. “He had too much.”

Kenny said simply. “Just go!”

The boy smiled at Kenny, saying “I’m sorry.”

“Go,” Kenny said, pushing the boy out the door, closing it and putting on the double latch.

Kenny fell onto his bed and cried softly into the pillow, his mind drifting to Mark, wishing he was here, knowing that Mark would protect his Karen from these louts. Mark, Mark, where are you, my love? I need you to hold me and keep me safe.

*****
The MaryAnn Keyes Gender Clinic was housed in makeshift quarters in a storefront building just off University Avenue that once housed a novelty store. Kenny was surprised to see how ragtag the building appeared; the remnants of a marketing sign painted on the building’s side added to its seedy exterior.

The ramshackle appearance did nothing for Kenny’s confidence as he entered the aging aluminum framed glass doors that once opened up to bargain-minded college students. A musty odor filled his nostrils as he entered, feeling the ancient wooden floor creak as he walked.

A pock-marked, slender young man was seated behind an old metal desk, upon which sat a sign: “Reception.” The man looked up from his computer, asking, “May I help you.”

Kenny announced that he had an appointment with Dr. Bargmann, which the young man verified by punching the keys on the computer. He directed Kenny to a waiting area behind a portable wall, where a dozen metal folding chairs were set up for clients. Three other young people, all of indeterminate gender, sat patiently. All were looking at school notebooks, but Kenny suspected none of them were concentrating on the pages in their laps.

“Hi, I’m Jamie,” a cherub-faced, round-bodied young person said in a high-pitched, thin voice, as Kenny sat down in a chair nearby.

Even though Kenny wore jeans (girl-style), he brushed his bottom as if he were wearing a skirt, and then flicked his hair from his face. Kenny nodded the greeting, and regarded the person, realizing on closer examination that the voice belonged to a boy.

“I guess we should be glad this clinic is here,” Jamie said again.

“Yes, but it sure doesn’t look like much,” Kenny said.

The boy giggled. “You can’t tell a book by its cover, but I’m told these folks know what they’re doing.”

“Let’s hope so,” interjected a husky voice from one of the other clients, a large, tall young person with a butch haircut. Kenny figured the speaker was a girl who may be wishing she were a boy; yet, he couldn’t be sure.

“I did some research on this place,” Kenny said. “It’s only in its second year, and I guess they will eventually get nicer quarters. Dr. Bargmann is supposed to be tops in the field.”

“That’s what I’m told,” the cherub-faced boy said. “I need the best.”

“Guess we all do,” chimed in the boyish looking girl. “By the way, I’m Bobbie, or Roberta hoping to be Robert.”

Kenny smiled, happy that the persons in the waiting room broke the ice with their openness.

“I’m officially Kenny, but prefer being Karen,” he said.

Jamie reached over a patted Kenny’s hand. “You’re very pretty, Karen. I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be,” Kenny said. “This hasn’t been easy.”

“Not for any of us,” echoed Bobbie. The boy sat primly, his soft pudgy hands folded in his lap.

Their discussion was interrupted, when a youngish woman entered the room and announced: “Kenneth.”

“That’s me,” Kenny said, arising from his seat.

“Dr. Bargmann will see you now. Follow me,” she said.

Kenny was led up old worn wooden staircase and into a large makeshift office, a room that may once have been a bedroom. It contained two overstuffed leatherette chairs and a love seat, end tables, lamps, a coffee table, and a coffee service set up on an old dining room table.

Dr. Bargmann arose from one of the chairs; he was a nondescript man of moderate height, bespectacled and balding, hardly what Kenny had been expecting. Shouldn’t a famous doctor look more commanding?

The doctor held out a gentle hand and greeted Kenny, motioning to sit down on a love seat, while the doctor returned to the easy chair placed to Kenny’s left.

“I hope that’s comfortable for you,” he said.

“This is fine,” Kenny said. For some reason, he felt at ease with this man.

Kenny accepted a bottle of water while the doctor poured himself a cup of coffee from a carafe on the coffee table.

Dr. Bargmann began by apologizing for the quarters, saying he hoped the appearance would not bother Kenny. He said that he had examined Kenny’s records as put together in a long telephone Kenny had in making the appointment.

“Tell me about how this all came to be, Kenny. Oh by the way, while we consider our course of action with you, I’ll be calling you Kenny. I hope that’s Ok, or do you prefer Kenneth or Ken?”

“I’d prefer Karen,” Kenny said, “But I understand, and Kenny’s fine.”

‘We’ll see if it should eventually be Karen. Now tell me your story. Take all the time you want. We’ve got 30 minutes.”

Kenny needed less than ten minutes to tell his story, and when he was finished, the doctor, who had listed closely but took no notes, said nothing for what seemed an eternity. Instead the doctor sat quietly, looking directly at Kenny with what appeared to be a blank expression. Kenny was puzzled; wasn’t this doctor supposed to be a top expert?

“Is there anything else?” Kenny finally asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Bargmann said softly. “I’ve only heard about the last four months of your life. Did you just pop out of your mother’s womb last June?”

Kenny let out a brief giggle. “No, I didn’t, but that was when I began thinking about being a girl. It’s when I first dressed as one.”

“Ok, Kenny,” the doctor said. “Now tell me about your friends.”

Kenny paused for a moment. He really didn’t have any friends in high school, except for Angela. How could he confess that he was essentially friendless, that his last friend who was a boy — Alex who lived in the same apartment building — ditched him in 6th grade when he found out Kenny won an award for a scarf he had crocheted at the State Fair.

“Well, there’s Angela,” he said.

“Is she your girl friend?”

“Not in the sense of being a boy-girl romance,” Kenny said. “We’re just friends.”

“Tell me about her.”

Kenny explained that Angela had gotten him interested in politics and the two had worked as young teens on the election of the current President; from there, Angela got him interested in the Social Service Club at the high school, drawing him into making regular visits to the elderly and stirring his interest in social work.

“She’s been quite an influence on you, am I right?”

“Yes, doctor, she has been. She’s a year ahead of me and is also up here at the U.”

“Does she know about your feelings?”

“About being a girl? Ah . . . ah . . . well yes. She does, and she considers me a girlfriend and only calls me ‘Karen’ when we’re alone.”

Dr. Bargmann again remained silent. This maddened Kenny, since he felt compelled to speak again.

“Do you have sexual relations with Angela?” Dr. Bargmann finally asked, his tone direct and factual.

Kenny blushed. “I’m still a virgin, doctor.”

“That’s not what I asked you? Look, Kenny, if you’re not honest with me, I won’t take you as a patient. And sexual relations mean more than the putting of one’s penis into a woman.”

Kenny felt embarrassed; how could he confess how Angela treated him as if he were a woman, how she wanted him soft and weak, how she wanted him to taste her? All of these activities had bothered him as being immoral, dirty and a sin.

“Kenny I’ve heard it all, and if you don’t tell me everything, I can’t help you. I’m bound by law not to reveal what you tell me.”

The doctor leaned over and patted Kenny’s knee. He smiled at Kenny and then relaxed back into his chair.

“I sleep with her, doctor, but not as her male lover,” Kenny began. “She’s lesbian and she wants me as her girl friend only.”

“Thank you, Kenny. But you’ve had no boys that you were friends with, even in grade school.”

“Well, only Alex,” he said. “But that ended in 6th Grade.”

“Why was that?”

“He just drifted away.”

“He moved?”

“No,” Kenny said, pausing as he considered whether to tell the doctor about his crocheting prize. “He didn’t like me after the news went out through the school that I won an award at State Fair for a scarf I had crocheted. The whole class found out about it and the boys started laughing at me, calling me a girl or sissy. I cried right there in front of the whole class, and that made matters worse. Alex never walked to and from school with me after that day, even though we lived in the same apartment building.”

Kenny looked down at his hands when he finished; the incident may have been the worst in his young life.

“After that day,” he continued, still looking down at his hands, tears beginning as he recalled those days. “I never played with any boys again, but started hanging around with a few of the girls.”

The doctor stayed silent.

“I had more fun with the girls, doctor.”

“Now tell me about this crocheting, Kenny,” the doctor said. “How did that start?”

“Oh, from our baby-sitter, Aunt Harriet, only she wasn’t really our aunt, we just called her that. She watched us after school, until I got old enough to watch Sonny myself. But I like Aunt Harriet and visit her a lot. I loved watching her crochet and she taught me. She used to act in the movies and still acts a bit when she can.”

Soon, Kenny was eagerly telling the doctor how much he enjoyed doing housework, favoring that over messing around with boys in rough-housing or sports. He told how he made dinner each day for his mother when he was home, how he enjoyed watching movies with his mother, particularly romantic stories, and even read novels written for teen girls.

“But you never considered being a girl or wearing girl clothes until last summer?” the doctor asked.

“I never wore any clothes, no, but I often wondered why I wasn’t a girl, since I liked doing all girly things.”

Dr. Bargmann merely nodded and then smiled. “Well Kenny let me say first that you’re a smart, surprisingly well-adjusted person. And, if you’re interested, I’d like to work with you.”

“To make me a girl?” Kenny said, hardly disguising the eagerness in his voice.”

“Not so fast, dear. We’ve got a lot of work to do to see if that’s best for you,” he said.

“I know it’s best for me, doctor.”

“We’ll see, dear,” the doctor said, his voice kind and warm. “From outward appearances, I think you’re probably right, but we do need to get to know you a bit better. It’s really in your best interests, Kenny. This is a total life-altering step you’re thinking of taking, and you’ve really only been sampling a girl’s life for a few months.”

“But, doctor, my feelings go back lot longer than that,” he pleaded.

The doctor looked at his watch. “Well, I see our time is up now. We’ll get into more of this next time I see you.”

He directed Kenny to discuss future appointments with the young man at the receptionist desk. Kenny thanked the doctor, held out a limp hand, palms down, to be shaken by the doctor. As he did so, he imagined himself as a dainty princess holding her hand out to be kissed by a knight in shiny armor. He made no effort to hide his feminine mannerisms. Now that he knew Dr. Bargmann would be working with him, he was happy as a school girl.